


Puck Drop

by nchung



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, National Hockey League, Romance, Slow Burn, Sports, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 13:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nchung/pseuds/nchung
Summary: "Jack, this is Henry Haddock. He'll be helping you through your recovery."Jackson Overland, nicknamed Jack Frost, a hockey prodigy chosen to play in the NHL as The Guardians centre forward, has an unfortunate accident that stops his fresh hockey career from progressing.Henry Haddock, a medical student studying in the field of sports injuries is chosen to help the young athlete through this hard time.Jack wants his recovery time to be as fast as possible, so he could be on the ice once again, but what he doesn't expect is not only experiencing the hardships of being a professional ice hockey player, but the realization that falling in love feels a lot like a puck drop; unpredictable, scary, but exciting all at the same time.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild profanity

_"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." -Wayne Gretzky_  


* * *

  


     "The puck makes it's way down to centre ice. Freeman is in possession of the puck, but is quickly countered by the forward, Xavier, to bring it back to the Guardians' zone. Xavier skates down and passes it to Richardson. Richardson flies by the defensemen of The Guardians and counters it by passing it back to Xavier. They're weaving their way through and fighting to break past the strategic and almost impassable barrier of The Guardians' defence. But Xavier is trapped! He looks around, but he's skating forward! Xavier shoots...! And the home of The Guardians are going wild! The Guardians centre forward, Jack Frost, makes a surprise appearance and blocks the puck from going in! The crowd is going _wild_!"

_Breathe, Jack._

     "Overland weaves his way behind the goalie zone and skates forward to the blue line, and makes his way quickly across the neutral zone. Overland passes it to Wellend and Wellend passes it back to Overland. The Nightmares try their best to break that weave, but there's no stopping them! Pitch Black charges toward Overland, but oh! Overland is too fast! Black continues to skate after The Guardians centre forward, and they're battling it out near the boards!"

     Jack grits his teeth as he turns around, trying his best to avoid the disappointment of losing the puck so easily against the opposing team’s defenceman. With his back facing the pale looking hockey player behind him, he looks down to the ice below him and raises his shoulder to block the view of the puck as he tries to skate out to centre ice and into The Nightmares zone.

     Blue eyes dart from left to right, searching for a safe opening to pass the puck too. To no avail, his team mates are all securely covered by the opposing team, sneers directed toward him as he fights for the puck against The Nightmares’ captain.

     Jack swears under his breath and moves his skate forward, knowing all too well that he’s trapped and has no choice but to try to force his way past the clutches that’s Pitch Black’s wrath. He hears Pitch growl under his breath and Jack turns, succeeding in continuing to keep possession of the puck, and away from Pitch.

     All 5 senses are at an all-time high in times like this. He’s aware of his heavy and laboured breaths and feels and hears his erratic heart beats under all his uniform equipment. His ears pick up the sound of skates drifting across the ice and his name being called over and over again throughout the arena, fans cheering him and their team on in a mantra. His nose picks up the smell of sweat, cheap game food, new and old equipment, shaved ice, and in general, just the smell of _hockey_.

     He closes his eyes for the briefest moment to calm his heightened senses down, and skates forward, hoping for the best.

_Focus, Jack._

     But alas, hockey isn’t just about being aggressive and impulsive. It’s a game of strategy, of speed, of intelligence, and passion.

     “Yo, mate!”

     Jack’s eyes dart to the right of him and he smirks, seeing a trusted team mate across the ice that managed to get past the huge defencemen that kept him in the same spot for only a few seconds, but what felt like hours to them.

     His body darts forward on it’s own and manages it to make it past the much taller body of Pitch Black.

     Pitch yells and orders out a command to his surrounding team, “After him!”

_Shit._

     The boy feels the cold wind against his face and he skates as fast as his body can manage toward Bunnymund, his goal to pass the puck to his silver-haired team mate.

     But alas, his goal is intercepted by two huge hockey players going straight for him.

     “Overland, watch out!”

     His ears pick up the yells and his eyes widen, but before he can register it, he feels an immense impact against his body and he goes flying across the ice, and his ears pick up the sound of something cracking.

     Jack continues to slide across the ice in an x position, his surroundings blurring against his will.

     It always happens. Every game The Guardians have against the infamous Nightmares, all hell breaks loose. This is not a simple game of hockey, Jack thinks. It's a game to weed out the strongest, the most brutal; the players that don't care if they leave with a broken bone or two, or giving others a concussion so bad, their team mates don't see them for another season. All they care about it is having the puck in their possession, and getting that puck past the quick reflexes of the goaltender.

     Jack knows the sport he chose to play would test his body and mind to the max. He knew what he was getting himself into as soon as his name was called, and he signed those papers on live television when it was the NHL Draft day.

     The manager, the coach, his future team mates, his parents, his little sister; they were all there that day, to watch the young man sign his way to finally fulfilling his ultimate dream of playing in the National Hockey League. And it wasn't too long ago either.

     Jackson Overland was a prodigy, and his father knew that as soon as he saw his son out in the backyard, on the pond he decided to make just for the fun of it, and to follow the old traditions of what a regular Canadian family was rumoured to have. A medium double-double from the Tim Horton's down the road, a nice tall glass of cold Molsen Canadian beer, a person bumping into you and then muttering an apology under your breath, even though both of you know it's not your fault at all, subconsciously adding an " _eh_ " at the end of every sentence, 12 months of unyielding winter's that rivalled the most north parts of the world, and playing a fun game of hockey that brought the family together.

     Jack's father knew it was bullshit. None of it were true for most families in The True North Strong and Free. When he finished up the rink and trusted the below freezing temperature to do it's magic on his little joke in his backyard, he did not expect his 5-year-old son to be out there almost every single day, make-shift stick in hand and making imaginary obstacles in front of him, easily breaking through the invisible competitors that stood in his way and threatened his team to have that Stanley Cup that was _his_ to kiss. He did not expect his 8-year-old son to be the face of the Little League Hockey Players for Burgess, Ontario. He did not expect his 11-year-old son yelling out in passion at a Christmas Dinner one evening that no matter what, he wanted to be exactly like Wayne Gretzky. He did not expect his 15-year-old’s son’s coach pulling him aside and informing him that Jackson had a gift for the game, and informing him on something he already knew.

     Waking up at 5am to be on time to 6am hockey practices, his son looking at him with a split lip, little bruises adorning his body, and a red mark under his left eye that he very well knew would soon form into a black one, but despite it all, the happiest and brightest grin upon that face, revealing a chipped tooth. And days that were spent solely on equipment shopping and taping up the bottom of Jack’s hockey stick.

     It was a lot of work, but he knew it was all worth it, because he did not expect seeing his 18-year-old son running into the living room in the middle of his favourite tv show, screaming out the news that he just got a call from the National Hockey League, catching the eye of a few managers that decided to attend his game, and coming to a conclusion that they wanted to give Jack a chance for a tryout. And he _did not_ expect his 19-year-old son up on that stage, wearing the cap with The Guardians logo on it, an awkward and shy, but fulfilling smile adorning his face as he shook hands with the coach, pictures getting taken by a multitude of sports journalists and media coverage for the 2017 National Hockey League Season Draft.

     He was well aware that Jack knew what he was getting himself into, but he couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine from happening every time Jack got hurt. And these were one of those times.

     The audience stood up as he did so as well, eyes trained on the hockey player that glided across the ice like a rag doll.

     His voice got caught in his throat as his eyes widened and his hands shook. He muttered his son’s name under his breath and the thousands of people surrounding him disappeared. He swallowed dryly and waited.

 

     His son was _strong_.

 

_He always gets right back up._

 

     No matter what, his son always gets right back up. He was Jackson Overland, dammit! Centre forward of The Guardians!

     The boy who beat all odds and succeeded in being one of the youngest hockey players to ever get drafted into the NHL! Jackson Overland, the first overall pick in the first round!

     Jackson Overland, nicknamed Jack Frost for a reason!

 

 

_But he didn’t._

 

     Jack lay there limp, hockey stick still in hand as if he still had the intent on standing back up as if nothing happened. The arena goes almost silent. Jack’s father stares with wide disbelieving brown eyes, and does the first thing that comes to his mind.

 

 

     He yells out his son’s name.

 

 

_“JACK!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's backstory was inspired by one of my idols, Wayne Gretzy. The whole story in general was inspired by my love for hockey, this ship, and a random idea popping up in my head while watching a game. 
> 
> If there are any ideas or constructive criticism you can throw at me, please do so, for it's been a LONG while since i've written.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say thanks for the reviews everyone! But alas, here is chapter 2. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: strong profanity and depictions of violence

_"Hockey players have fire in their hearts and ice in their veins." ―unknown  
_

* * *

  
  
     A barrage of panicked voices is all he could make out. He fought against the command his body was giving his eyes to close. His limbs felt heavy and he could have sworn they were clung to the stretcher he was currently laying down on. Sweat hung on to dear life at the tips of his brown locks, matted together and _when did his hockey helmet come off?_ It dripped down the sides of his temples and made it’s way down the ridges of his neck, creating an uncomfortable sensation of dampness below his uniform. Jack wanted it all off. He wanted the voices surrounding him to stop and he wanted everything _off._  
  
     The internal struggle became more and more exposed to the outside world as his consciousness resurfaced. A frustrated grunt escaped his lips and he sighed heavily as he fought to sit up, but was unsuccessful in doing so as a pain shot up his spine and through his head. He was finally able to open his eyes to only notice his surroundings and bluntly ignore everything around him as one thought was in his mind: _“Get these damn things off me!”_  
  
     Jack never noticed he stated it out loud until a couple of faces turned to look at him, some known, some he’s never seen before in his life. His heavy and laboured breathing continued to ring in his ears and his now clear vision took in his environment. His ears picked up the sound of a distant sharp whistle and a flurry of cheers and voices. His body jolted in surprise as he heard a loud buzz resonate outside of the door, and from down the hall. Jack managed to control his breathing and fixated his line of site on the people standing in front of him. He concluded he was still in the arena.  
  
     “Calm down, malyutka,” he heard a gentle but assertive command and blinked rapidly, recognizing the thick Russian accent immediately. Jack cleared his throat and looked at the massive sized man that sported a casual suit, sleeves rolled up and exposing an array of tattoos covering his pale and muscular forearms. His white hair was slicked back and his beard was very long, but still maintained and trimmed.  
  
     The man really was quite intimidating to look at all in all, but his eyes told a whole different other story; filled with everlasting joy and a unique kindness that made people feel at ease. But there was also a fire hidden beneath those blue pools; a thirst for adventure, an impenetrable resilience and robust that could make even the most malevolent and dark spirited people cower at his feet and cry for forgiveness, for a way out, and for help.  
  
     Jack swallowed thickly and looked into the man’s eyes. He attempted to speak properly, but a strangled whine resonated from his throat. The boy coughed lightly and tried again, ”Coach.”  
  
     He internally winced. It sounded completely pathetic and almost plea-like, but he knew the Santa replica standing in front of him would be the last one to ever judge him in his vulnerable state.  
  
     The man sighed and took a step forward, a small yet sad smile adorning his face as he spoke, “You’re very hurt, Jack.”  
  
     The young athlete’s eyes squinted for a moment and looked up at him like he had grown two heads. His voice came out groggy, but clearer, “North, what happened?”  
  
     Jack knew the answer. He remembers every moment right down to a tee. He wasn’t sure why he was asking, but he wanted to make sure the nervousness taking over his chest could be put at ease, even if it was just by a little bit.  
  
     Jack absolutely dreaded this feeling; he was pretty sure everyone did. The moments in which you know would bring the most pain, but are necessary to go through. And people like him, like to just get the whole thing over with. His simple mind could only compare this moment back to when he broke his mother’s knew glass doll, a collection she was always obsessing over, for as long as he could remember. He was caught red-handed, given no chance to casually walk away and pretend like nothing happened. But when he turned around to do so, his plan instantly went to shambles as he saw the light blue eyes of his mother, thin lips pulled down into a disappointed frown. She sighed and shook her head as she said his full name out loud, which was never a good sign. Followed by an instruction that she would like to have a talk with him in the kitchen about running in the house. _Again._ _  
__  
_      Those moments leading up to walking into that kitchen and sitting down in front of his mother; he could easily compare a small moment from his childhood to this moment here, a moment that could ruin his dreams forever. A moment that will reveal how much damage he took to the body, and _will_ to his career.  
  
     North breathed in deeply and looked up at the people in front of him, the gentle look returning to stern and business like. Out of the three people, one stepped up and began to speak with his coach, keeping in mind that the centre of attention was silently, but impatiently waiting for answers behind them.  
  
     He long gave up on trying to sit up. Jack knew something was seriously wrong, and the worried glances that were occasionally thrown his way did not help counter his reasoning either. So he just laid there, waiting for the inevitable news that would put his curiosity at ease. It wasn’t as if he was a pessimist, he was far from that, actually. But when it comes to the things that you love, the things that you feel like you were destined to do, you can’t help but face the cold hard reality that sometimes comes along with those passions. You can’t fight back the internal battles that rage inside you the moment your intuition picks it up and warns you that something is not adding up.  
  
     The brunette can admit he follows his gut over his analytical thinking, and at times throughout his life, it’s gotten him into situations he’d rather not look back on. It can also be a gift, but at times like this, he curses his natural ability to sense danger. And with that ability, comes impulsivity. And at this moment, he wants to scream. He wanted to scream out that he wants to be back on that ice, knowing that his teammates―his _family,_ are still fighting to win, trying to play on, knowing that their captain is back here, with an injury that’s beyond any of them. They have no clue how bad it is, and neither does Jack.  
  
     He almost smiles at the thought. With the months that he’s had the honour of playing with them, he most certainly knows that they’re not solely trying to win for the satisfaction and glory, but that they’re playing to win for _him._ _  
__  
_      At that thought, Jack’s demeanor changes. The three other people in the room sense the change in aura, and look back at him. Although unable to sit up right, Jack looks straight at the man in the middle, crystal eyes filled with an unknown strength and asks, “How bad is it?”  
  
     The man looks back at him, eyes focused, but clearly giving away the sympathy that he shows towards the young athlete. His eyes are still trained on him for a few seconds until he turns away, and grabs a plastic chair near him, pulling it up and taking a seat. The lights over head illuminates the blond hair with an eerie glow, and Jack feels as if he’s about to be interrogated for doing something very wrong. When he opens his mouth, he simply introduces himself. “I’m Mike. These two behind me are Astrid Hofferson and Shawn Jorgenson.” Mike points back, and Jack looks behind him to see the people that he never really took notice of in the room before.  
  
     One was young woman, blonde, sporting a simple red sweater with brown tights. She had a clipboard in her hands. She was thin, but looked fit. Jack could tell from the healthy glow in her face, and the proportions of her body. He assumed she was an athlete just like himself, until he got to a little plastic tag that was pinned to her sweater, and what it read was _Dr. Hofferson._ _  
__  
_      She waved, and a sweet smile crossed her face. “Hi, Jack. I’m Dr. Hofferson, but just call me Astrid.” A small smile appeared and disappeared just as fast on Jack’s mouth and he turned his face to the man next to her.  
  
     The brunette stepped up, but just nodded. “Shawn Jorgenson.” He then laughed bitterly. “You’re in big trouble, kid.” Astrid was quick to fling her hand out and whack him in the side. He showed no reaction, but glared to the woman next to him, proceeding to roll his eyes and look away. Jack could easily sense that they’ve known each other for a long while.  
  
     “Ignore him. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jackson. I’m a big fan of yours,” she exclaimed with excitement.  
  
     Jack smiled genuinely and nodded. “It’s nice to meet you both.”  
  
     His ears picked up someone sighing annoyed and he looked up at Shawn. “Let’s just cut to chase, shall we? The kid’s fucked. Let him know that.”  
  
     Jack’s eyes widened worriedly and he looked over to Coach North and took notice of the quick flash that crossed his normally soft eyes. North then sighed and crossed his arms. “Jack, I won’t sugar coat anything here. It is bad.” The brunette gulped in response.  
  
     “But we’re all here to help you through this, Jackson. Your coach is right, but it’s certainly not hopeless,” he heard Astrid cut in.  
  
     She then proceeded to clear her throat and she took a seat as well. Pulling out her clipboard from under her grasp, her eyes skimmed over quickly and looked back up at Jack. “From going over your files, you have an excellent health record. You’re lucky the injury wasn’t worse, but from what I can tell, you have an obvious severe concussion.”  
  
_And there it was._  
  
     Blue eyes looked away from the doctor and back up at the white tiled ceiling, and Jack took a deep breath, calming his nerves down and trying his best to take in all the new information at once.  
  
     “But,” he looked back to his right to notice Shawn speaking up. “Don’t think it’s all over. I see that look in your eyes. That hopelessness. Stop that.”  
  
     Jack swallowed and nodded, but with minimal movement. At first, he wondered what the hell this guy’s problem was. Jack could easily tell he was a no bullshit guy, not taking others’ feelings into consideration no matter how sensitive the situation was, but suddenly, Jack was very thankful for that, and he knew why Shawn was chosen to be in this room.  
  
     This was a no nonsense situation. He was a professional hockey player, for crying out loud. _He_ chose this life. He worked for this life. He had no time to mope around and drown in his own misery. He had to face reality. And Shawn was there to make sure he did exactly that.  
  
     “Alright Jack,” The boy turned to look at his coach, noticing his burly hands reaching for an iPad on the counter next to them.  
  
     His eyes looked as North brought a video up, and Jack raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” he asked.  
  
     “This is protocol,” North started. “It’s protocol when athlete get hurt. Before you go through recovery, malyutka, the athlete themselves has to see how much damage is done, how hard you work to recover.” North then proceeded to turn the screen to face Jack. “Now,” He pressed play. “Watch.”  
  
     Jack’s eyes squinted as he saw the screen for the hockey game he was just in come into view. The score and data were at the top, and he heard the voices of the game announcers cover every detail of the current events taking place in the game. This was the view the public saw on their television.  
  
     His eyes continued to watch closely, following the movements of the other hockey players. He took note of the positions and patterns of the opposing teams fighting for the puck, and his heart rate picked up as he saw The Nightmares’ forward make his way into their zone and attempt to slapshot a goal past their goaltender. But then, he came into view and blocked that shot from going in.  
  
     Jack looked back on it. Situations like these are when his intuition was a gift. He wasn’t far from the net, but he could pick up the distracted and overwhelmed look in his goaltenders eyes. So Jack did what a good captain was supposed to do.  
  
     He watched the screen intently and saw himself quickly block the shot from going in. A small smile made it’s way onto Jack’s face as heard the fans cheer loudly. But then, what surprised him, was the sneers on the opposing team’s faces.

     Jack squinted his eyes, attempting to look closer, and noticed The Nightmares’ captain skate straight for him before the excitement died down. But what surprised Jack wasn’t the fact the captain acted purely out of rage, but an undeniable malice as well. Rage was one thing Jack was used to seeing in a body contact sport, especially something like hockey, where fights were allowed to break out anytime with little consequence.  
  
     Jack never noticed he grabbed ahold of the device himself, and the other people in the room looked down at the young man with worry.  
  
     His eyebrows scrunched forward and he saw as he passed the puck to Aster and Aster passed it back to him, both boys making the puck move down the ice, towards The Nightmares’ zone.  
  
     But blue eyes soon widened as he saw Black skating very fast from behind, _headed straight for him._ And Jack knew from there that his real intent was not on the puck at all. _  
_ _  
_      Jack gritted his teeth, and felt the pounding in his head increase as he saw Pitch making his way to him at an incredibly fast speed. Aster turned to look towards the captain and yelled out, but before Jack could react, his body simply went flying as Pitch collided into him, and he winced as he saw his head hit the ice in an impact that Jack is surprised didn’t kill him. He’s surprised he’s even conscious right at this moment.  
  
     He continued to watch the iPad’s screen and estimated that he must have flew in the air for at least two metres, and proceeded to skid across it for at least five. He heard the audience stop their cheers and the announcer speak in a panicked voice. Jack saw his teammates skate towards him, forgetting the puck altogether. The camera zoomed into the disarray, but quickly zoomed out as the announcer commanded them to stop; that there was too much blood. A wave of discontented boos made it’s way through the arena and the camera then zoomed in on Pitch, fuming and yelling at the referee as he was escorted off of the ice. The camera switched and Jack saw the medical team clear his teammates out of the way and quickly take him off the ice in a frenzied, but controlled way.  
  
     “You’re lucky you’re even alive, Overland,” he heard a voice say. He looked up from the screen, and looked straight at Shawn, a stern look taking over his features. Jack looked over and noticed the sad look on Astrid’s face. “Your recovery won’t be easy.”  
  
     The boy looked back at the screen, mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide with an underlying horror and thankfulness. Horror towards the merciless act Pitch targeted towards him, and thankfulness that he was still breathing in the first place.  
  
     He was about to say something when the door was abruptly thrown open.  
  
     All faces turned towards the loud noise and Jack’s eyes widened at the sight, and tears stung the back of his eyes immediately, threatening to fall. “Dad!”  
  
     North’s hand gently pressed down on Jack’s chest, pushing him back down. North gave him a warning look and Jack sighed, knowing he was not in a state to be moving so freely.  
  
     James Overland made his way over to his son and immediately put his hands in hair that looked exactly like his. James breathed in relief of his son being awake and alert and he smiled softly. “That was quite the fall there, buddy.”  
  
     Jack grinned through blurry vision and attempted to hug his dad in his position. He felt warm hands caress the top of his head and his voice came out shaky. “Did you see me, dad? I stopped that puck from going in.” He felt his bottom lip quiver.  
  
     The vibrations from his dad’s chest from chuckling soothed him. “You did good, son. What a game.”  
  
     The boy laughed lightly and hugged his dad tighter. “Hey, dad?”  
  
     James made a hum of acknowledgement as he continued to caress the top of Jack’s head.  
  
     “This isn’t the end, right?” A tear slowly made it’s way down Jack’s temple and his body shook as thought after thought shot through his mind, his voice rising up a few octaves.  
  
     Was this the end of something great? Would he never be able to play with his teammates again just because of some head injury? He’s worked so damn hard for this, and the idea that this could all soon be over just like that slowly shattered Jack’s hope piece by piece.  
  
     Hockey was his passion, his will, his life. Whenever he stepped onto that ice, lights above him, cold breaths escaping his mouth in small puffs as he skated forward, surrounded by his teammates, his hands gripping the stick with keen determination and focus, and hearing the wave of people cheering and shouting their support at the top of their lungs; that’s what he _lived_ for.  
  
     If his passion for the game could talk, it would speak of champions and legends, underdogs and lesser knowns, of strong hands lifting his love for it high, strong arms, wrapped gently around it. And grown men going weak in the knees when they can finally grasp it. It could recall countless hearts this priceless thing called love has touched. And the soul of every single player who has fought to make it known above all else. It would tell you each of its ten _billion_ kisses towards the hearts of free young children and frail old souls, and all the places it’s been. Most of all, Jack believes, that love and passion would tell you it has been an honour. To which Jack would reply, the honour is all _his._  
  
     A whimper escaped his mouth and he grit his teeth together, not trying anymore to hide the fact that he was slowly breaking apart in his dad’s supportive embrace, silently saying goodbye to one of the many things he loved with all he had.  
  
      _“_ Of _course not_ , Jack,” his dad replied, his own voice shaking. “Of course it’s not. There’s hope, and don’t you _ever_ forget that.”  
  
     Another small sob escaped Jack’s chapped lips and he continued to cry in the strong arms, hanging on to the words that left lingering in the air and echoing in his mind, reassuring him that everything was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> malyutka: little one in Russian


End file.
